


Pizza Please

by castielismybabydaddy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gay Keith (Voltron), How Do I Tag, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Possessive Behavior, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking, does keith even wanna bone, shiro ships it, sorry ill stop tagging now, they have sex intoxicated, who am i talking about hon hon hon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielismybabydaddy/pseuds/castielismybabydaddy
Summary: Keith’s cheek flared at the memory of a lanky frat boy with a sweaty but pretty broad chest, falling wholeheartedly into his arms and squeezing places that should’ve never been touched... ever.“You're not quitting just because an assumed drunk teen flirted with you, too bad sorry,” Shiro shrugged





	Pizza Please

**Author's Note:**

> Looks who's making another fiction because of a bunch of Voltron crack memes on Tumblr.
> 
> me.

Keith trudged up the stone steps, dodging half naked, drunk girls and dark spots on the concrete that he assumed was throw up….? He shook his head in disgust. Why did his brother -who is amazing at indirectly guilt tripping anyone in a 30-foot range- send him to deliver a shit ton of pizzas to this fraternity? This place better have a decent tip or he will in fact quit. He might have to stuff his ears with cotton and close his eyes while he throws in his imaginary towel, but it will be worth it.  
  
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, hopefully, he can draw attention to anyone closest to the door and get the hell out of there.

Nothing.

No one answered. Of course not the music coming from inside can be heard from the damn pizza place. He set all but one pizza box onto the ground and tried again harder. Still no luck.  
  
He punched the doorbell three times out of sheer frustration before a half naked dark skinned guy threw open the door. His shorts looked like he just shoved them on, and Keith could practically smell how fresh the sex was.   
  
“Guuuuuys! The pizza’s here!” The guy fell into Keith's arms knocking the pizza to the ground. Keith made a hurt grunt and tried to right the pizza before the top of it stuck to the box.  
  
“And who might you be?” The guy's breath smelled like a terrible mix between liquor and cheeseburgers. Keith visibly cringed when a hot hand groped his rear.   
  
“Um, pizza man. Your charge is $70.48,” Keith pushed the guy off and held out a hand. To his dismay, the hand was yanked forward into a tight hug. “No no no, I meant your name! I'm Lance?”   
  
Well, this Lance was point two seconds from getting his lights knocked out of him. Forget the damn pizza. He's dealt with drunk customers before, they've been clingy, inviting, even angry, but none of them had this level of clinginess. Lance was currently rubbing his face into Keith's chest, and Keith was holding back the angriest of tears. “Keith,” he hissed, shoving Lance out of his face.  
  
  
Lance stood up straight a dopey grin on his face. “Well Keith,” He draws out his name in mock anger, “thank you for the pizza, my numbers’ in your phone.” He took the pizza from Keith and picked up the other ones with ease, before stepping back into the house.  
  
“Wait you gotta-”  
  
“Check your pockets cutie!” With that, Lance slammed the door shut. Keith scrambled to feel his pockets, pulling out his phone and dropping the two fifty dollar bills Lance slipped into his back pocket. Let’s say the sudden change of this Lance guy’s demeanor left Keith stumbling three or four times to pick the money up all the way. Heat drowned his cheeks when he looked around pretty sure all these drunk people noticed his shakiness.  
  
After checking the bills were legit he borderline ran back to his motorcycle ditching that whole area. He’s quitting that’s final. There is nothing Shiro can do to keep him from ever doing this again.  


 

* * *

 

  
  
“No, Keith.” Shiro was restocking the bottled drink fridge next to the checkout station. “But Shiro, I want that to be the last fucking time some partying asshole touches me!” Keith growled out, a scowl etched into his features. Shiro went to stand up and Keith decided to switch it up now that his brother was turning to face him. Keith crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip in an attempt to pout his way to victory.  
  
“What exactly did this “partying asshole”-your words not mine- do to you anyway.” Shiro tested, “You’ve never told me about any of the other ones so how do I know this kid just didn’t offend your outfit?”   
  
Keith scoffed, “What’s wrong with my outfit?” He plucked unconsciously at the half jacket he found at a yard sale for like three dollars two years ago. Shiro shook his head waving his arms slightly, “Nothing Keith, now tell me. What happened?”  
  
Instantly Keith’s cheek flared at the memory of a lanky frat boy with a sweaty but pretty broad chest, falling wholeheartedly into his arms and squeezing places that should’ve never been touched ever.   
  
“Well the guy took like an extra ten minutes to open the damn door, first of all, and when he went to pay me he pickpocketed my phone-” Shiro gasped, interrupting the story, and yanked his phone out dialing Keith's phone. “Shiro he put his number in it not stole it-” His explaining was again interrupted by the unforgettable I'm a GummyBear ringtone in his back pocket. “Oh, well that's good that he didn't steal it.” Shiro hung up quickly waving off the stares of the few patrons in the pizzeria.   
  
“You're not quitting just because an assumed drunk teen flirted with you, too bad sorry,” Shiro shrugged, “if you want you can clock out the whole thirty minutes early and head back to that party....” He trailed off with a smirk, at his brother's obvious sputtering.they stared each other down until Shiro nodded at him to go. Keith stomped to the backroom ignoring his brother's catcalls instead going into the Manager's office to clock out.   
  
“Don't party too hard little bro,” Shiro picked, taking Keith's slip and typing it into his log. “Don't worry, I don’t plan on going at it too hard,” he tries, shooting weak ass finger guns at Shiro as he steps out the back way.  
  
Keith hopped onto his bike once again and headed home.

As good as the idea of him crashing a party for a quick hit up might seem to his brother, it was a horrible thought for someone like Keith. Someone who can’t look at a stranger in the eye without wanting to hide behind whatever is in his hands. So home he goes, where he will sit up all night, stare at his contact list, and sip on his own “party liquor” until he passes out.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
